


Never Have I Ever....

by MissNessarose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 99 percent fluff, Bucket List, Cute, Doing cute stupid pointless things, Family Fluff, Gen, Somewhat sad, post-age of ultron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNessarose/pseuds/MissNessarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In New York City and with so much downtime on their hands, Pietro and Wanda find the time to do all of the things that they couldn't do before...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this immediately after going to see the movie, and it's silly fluffy adventures all the way throughout! Everything doesn't have to be read in order, but it's organized by season, so there's that. Length will vary, and the amount of fluff will be absolutely devastating. Perhaps I'm pushing it a little by saying that they haven't done _all_ of these things, but let's pretend for just a little while, hmm~?  
>  Good luck to you all!

Her first thought upon seeing the new base from the outside was that it was so  _ big. _ However, upon seeing the inside, it  _ felt _ even bigger. It seemed like there was a room for absolutely everything that she could have ever dreamed up, lined with winding hallways, tall ceilings, and doors that led to everywhere. 

“And we're still working on the room layouts, unfortunately, so we'll get something set up for each of you as soon as we can. For now, however, you're going to have to settle for this lounge, if that's okay.”

Wanda raised her head from where they sat on the sofa—for a second, she had forgotten that Tony was even there in the room, let alone that he was speaking to them. She heard him, but she wasn't listening. Everything was still so new, so sudden, and it was hard to believe that the battle had  _ ended _ . 

_ Done.  _

_Over._

She was still so wound up, so tense.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

Thankfully, he smiled. “Don't go spacing out on me, kid. I said, we're still working on the rooms. You guys are going to have to sleep out here until we can get 'em settled, is that alright?”

She tried to match Stark's grin, something that felt surprisingly uncomfortable. It had been quite a long time, she realized, since a smile had felt natural on her face.

Her brother answered before she could.

“That's fine. Do you have any idea of  _ when  _ they'll be done?” 

“Soon,” he assured them. “Like, most likely tomorrow if we don't have them settled by tonight. But, judging by the fact that everyone's tired as hell, probably tomorrow morning. Cool?”

“ _ Cool, _ ” Pietro repeated back, slowly, as if he were speaking an entirely different language. Tony smirked. 

“Great. And as soon as we've decided who gets what, I'll let you guys design 'em how you want, whatever color, whatever furniture, however you like.”

Their eyes lit up with an aura of wonder and joy, and Wanda blinked slowly. “We get to pick?”

“Uh...yeah. Why?”

They exchanged a quick look with one another. “We've never done that before,” Pietro told him softly. “At least, not in a long time.”

“What, done anything you've wanted?” Tony said slowly, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. When they only blinked back, he realized just how much that these kids would have to catch up on. They had missed out on all of the things that regular American kids did—they likely hadn't done anything fun since they were ten.

And anything that they  _ did  _ remember might have been brainwashed straight out of them for being absolutely unnecessary to Hydra's ulterior motives.

“Well, you get to do whatever you want here. I mean, within reason. But yeah, we've got cash, and New York is pretty great for doing crazy things. Just, uh, here—” Reaching for a spare sheet of paper on the coffee table between them, he slid a pen over across to them. “—write down any ideas you get, make yourselves a list, and we'll hit up what we can. We could, I don't know, go see a movie or something? You ever see a movie?”

Wanda looked at Pietro as if searching for an answer, and then they looked back, blankly, towards Tony. He folded his hands, and brought them up to rest against his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, guys, you haven't done much, have you?”

There was silence. Then, Wanda whispered softly, “What's that?”

This was  _ not  _ going to fly—not on Tony Stark's watch.  _ Hell, no.  _

“Oh, my God. Okay, look, you guys get cracking on this list, okay, and I'll write up a few things myself. You kids aren't that old, so you were with... _ them _ for what, ten years?”

Pietro shrugged, and Tony sighed.

“Then we've got ten years to catch you guys up on. I'll just leave you to it then, okay? Just yell if you need anything, you know where to find us all.”

With a small salute, he left them alone with that little blank piece of paper on the table. Wanda took the pen cautiously in her hand, and paused.

“Everything that we've ever wanted to do?” she asked, biting at the corner of her lip. Pietro grabbed for a pencil lying on the end table, and moved closer to lean over the empty page before them.

“I think I have a few ideas...”

 


	2. #1: ...put together my own room

“How many colors are there?”

“Every single one you know...and then some, I'm sure.”

The wall of canisters rose high above their heads, and Wanda swore that she had to squint in order to see all the way to the top. How often did people paint their homes that there were  _ this  _ many colors to choose from? It was nearly overwhelming, but Natasha was patient beside them. 

“Go ahead and pick whatever you want. I'd do one color for the base, and then a secondary one that we can use for accents or borders or something...we'll work it out. I'll be the next aisle over, just come get me when you're ready to go.”

She turned to go, but paused before she turned around the corner. “And don't try to get anything off of the top shelf—just ask someone to get it for you. I don't have a problem with it, but I don't want to get banned from any place today, okay?”

After promising that they wouldn't break anything or topple any displays, it was only the two of them and the menacing stack of shelves before them. There were combinations upon combinations of varying shades of paint, some of which were the ugliest colors that Wanda had ever seen. The names were just as ugly, too, all elaborate and silly. Why say “Smoky Night Sky” when “Black” worked just as well?

She stooped to pull a canister from one of the lower shelves, that boasted a large label reading “Crushed Apple”.

“You want red?”

She set the can on the ground, and turned to see Pietro watching her with an amused glance.

“Something wrong with that?”

“You're wearing red—you actually do, most of the time.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “I like it.” She watched as he searched up and down the row of paint cans, finally pulling one from a middle shelf—“Regale Blue”.

“You want blue?” Wanda teased, in the same tone of voice that he had used.

Pietro narrowed his eyes. “Something wrong with that?”

“You always wear blue,” she answered, smugly.

“I like it.”

For now, they were even. She pretended to look disgusted, but cracked a smile as she surveyed the other available shades for a second color. A can with a distinct shade of black looked appealing, but sat high upon the top shelf. Pietro followed her gaze, and pointed to the canister.

“You want that one?”

Wanda frowned. “Yeah, but it's all the way up there. Who do we ask to get it?”

He followed the line of shelves all the way down the aisle to peer around the corners, and found the boy behind the counter fast asleep in his swiveling chair, a magazine folded limply over his face.

“Kid's asleep,” he commented, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “But who cares? Get on my back.”

“Natasha said—”

“—that she didn't want to get thrown out, and we  _ won't.  _ His fault that he's asleep, anyhow. Now, get on my back and I'll boost you up so you can grab it.” 

She cast a wary glance down the aisle, as if looking for someone, but finally complied, clambering up onto her brother's back. He supported her legs, holding her steady as she moved to grab the can.

“Hand it here, and I'll put you down.”

The transaction was smooth, and she was soon settled on solid ground again. He moved to pull a can of white paint from the shelf, and took three out of the final four in his arms—they were awfully heavy.

“Ready to go?”

She smiled softly and looped her arm through his.

“I think so.”

Buying the paint was entirely different from the act of painting itself—Tony had, in preparation, taped around all of the windows, light switches, and anything else in the way, leaving only blank white rooms littered with mass amounts of newspaper scraps. In the end, they had bought several extra cans of each shade—just to ensure that they had enough—and they stood alone with paint rollers in hand, unsure of what to do next.

“Where do you want to...start?”

Wanda's room was only slightly smaller, and an open can of red paint sat between them, their blank canvas at the ready.

“The walls?” Pietro suggested, with a sly smirk. She poked him with the clean paint roller.

“I'm being serious!”

“So am I. Start anywhere, we'll go from there. It's your room, after all.”

She nodded, rolled the sleeves up of the old, oversized t-shirt that she had borrowed, and dipped her roller into the paint tray that they had already prepared. Small droplets fell to hit the newspaper, and Wanda padded in bare feet to press the roller against the wall across from the door, smearing red all across the plain white walls. The process was slow and lengthy, but they were cautious—it was their first time doing a job like this, and both of them wanted to make it nothing less than perfect.

They painted along either side of the wall, finally coming to meet in the middle—Pietro's side was only just higher than Wanda's: he was taller, and could reach higher than she could.

“Do you want me to get the top up to the ceiling?” he offered. Her hands pulsed with power, and she hovered up until she was his height.

“I can get it.”

He covered the other walls rather quickly while she made her way along against the ceiling—they wouldn't be painting it, to save time and effort—and once more came to meet each other in the middle. As he painted below her on the lower half of the wall, she moved along the top portion. When she re-dipped her roller and raised it to the wall, small specks fell free to fall on her brother's head below.

Wanda stifled a laugh as he ran a hand through his messy hair, frowning when his fingers came away red.

“Did you just drip paint on me?”

She didn't look sorry at all. “Oops.”

He gestured to her—“ _ I'm watching you” _ —and resumed painting. After that, she really did try not to drip any more paint on his head, and when she least expected it, he swiped his roller along the bottom of her bare foot. 

“ _ Hey!”  _

“Oops,” he shrugged. 

He didn't look sorry, either.

“Rude,” she hissed, swatting at his head.

“Payback is a bitch, yes?”

They wound up with more paint on themselves than they did on the walls.

 

She trusted Natasha and Tony's judgment on designing the rest of the room—Wanda knew what she liked if she was given choices, but with a blank slate, she wasn't sure where to begin. The room, in the end, was beautiful, in shades of scarlet and cinnamon and beige, and tinted with varying degrees of polished oak.

The bed was nothing like she'd ever experienced before—soft and comfortable, with a thick comforter spread on top. At the end of the day, this was a place that she was glad to return to.

“Looks nice,” Pietro commented from the doorway, catching her attention. “I didn't see it once they finished, but I like it. More importantly, do  _ you  _ like it?” 

“I love it.”

Her sigh developed into a yawn, and he chuckled. “Bed looks comfortable—you should get some sleep.”

“Yeah...is yours done yet?” Wanda asked, rubbing at her eyes.

“Nearly. Just putting the finishing touches on.” He stretched and caught her yawn, and then pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Get some sleep. I will see you in the morning, yes?”

“Mm-hmm. Night.” On her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To explain the odd chapter titles, they're meant to be tacked on after the title: Never have I ever (done whatever the chapter title is)  
> Thought I would clear that up~  
> And I'll try to keep the twins' relationship at a point that it could either be purely a sibling relationship, or also a shippy thing, so you can interpret it however you'd like!


	3. #2: ...danced in the rain

She woke up for no particular reason—or maybe she hadn't fallen asleep at all. Some nights, it was a gamble; a matter of closing her eyes and hoping for the best. It looked, however, like she wouldn't be getting any more sleep any time soon, though. Wanda rolled over beneath the thick blankets, shifting hair from her face. The wide window on the wall beside the bed was streaked with water, and raindrops fell heavily against the panels. There was no noise from the storm outside, and she watched the rain spatter against the glass, tracing the tracks that they made with her eyes.

She checked the clock: three in the morning wasn't too terrible—she'd stirred at stranger hours before. When she was sure that sleep wasn't coming to return for her, she sat up in bed and pushed the covers down, curling up and holding her knees close to her chest. Her nightgown was something out of the new wardrobe she had been given: something loose and summery for the hotter spring nights that came their way.

As she watched the rain fall across her window, she was drawn by some silly, mischievous urge to go outside and run beneath the stormy skies, to feel the water on her face and the mud between her toes.

She was only able to hold this urge off for a good ten minutes before she caved in and slid, silently, from her bed. The wooden paneling was cool beneath her feet, and the halls were dark around her—it was very soothing, she found, to hear the rain running across the rooftop. But, as pleasant as she found the dark, it was still hard to see.

And she stumbled over the coffee table, landing crookedly on the floor. Nothing broken—maybe a few bruises—then no worries. She could see the patterns of lamplight outside, where other rooms cast their light through their own windows and onto the grass in bright patches. Clearly, she wasn't the only one awake at this hour.

Pietro's presence was a familiar little tug at the corner of her mind.

_ 'Was that you?' _

_'Good morning, I suppose.'_

It took all of three seconds before he asked where she was headed.

_ 'Outside.'  _

He didn't say anything in the form of proper words, but sent a flood of confusion and a sense of “what the actual hell” her way. 

_ 'It's raining,'  _ she thought (as if that wasn't clear already),  _ 'and I want to go outside. I'm going to go out in the rain. You can join me, or you can stay put.'  _

When she made her way past his room, he had already pulled on a hoodie and was waiting in the doorway.

“Let's go.”

She pressed open a side door to the building gently—everyone was probably already up or getting there, she supposed, but she didn't want to be responsible for waking anyone up—and skipped all three cement steps in favor of jumping straight down into the muddy grass below.

There's mud between her toes and rain in her hair, and she holds her arms out while she spins beneath the stars.

It smells cool and crisp and wet outside, and it very nearly smells like home.

 


	4. #3: ...gone running through the grass and the trees

_ 'Look, I'm not your mother, so I have absolutely no place in telling you both when or where you should be, but in case anything comes up, I would suggest letting someone know if you go somewhere, and keep your phones with you—the ones I gave you. They're cool no matter what Steve tells you—and don't go far. A part of me worries that you'll get lost or something.”  _

That was, generally, what Tony had told them the same day that they'd moved into their rooms in the building. However, it was the first (of what they hoped would be many) clear, warm day that year, and when the entire complex was surrounded by a lush expanse of rolling hills, there wasn't anyone on the team that could tell them 'no' when they wanted to go and enjoy it. 

So, in the middle of what had become an outside training session for the day, Wanda kicked her shoes off—they did a good three flips before completing their arch through the air and landing with a flop in the grass some feet away—and ducked beneath Sam's swing.

“Where are you going?”

“It's nice out—” (She threw her leg out in a wide arc, hoping to knock him over) “—and I'm taking a break.”

“You can't call breaks!”

“I just did!”

He stood back for a moment, observing her childish smile and bare feet. She wove her fingers through her braid, unwinding the plaits so that they fell, long and messy, down her back.

“And if you would really like to keep me, Mr. Wilson, I'm afraid that you're going to have to catch me first.”

Pietro was quick, as always, scooping her up effortlessly in his arms and taking her off across the stretch of hillside. When they were far enough that any pursuers wouldn't be able to catch up for some time, he settled her down on her feet, so that she could wiggle her toes in the long grass and stretch in the sunlight.

The forest beside them was alight with beams of sun and faint flecks of dust in the rays.

“No cheating,” she warned him sternly.

“You say that because you know I will win.”

“You always do.”

Her frown broke into a smile, and she took his hand as he led her, winding between the trees and over fallen branches, running barefoot over dirt and dust and debris.

It was so  _ freeing.  _

The tall trees gave way to brighter fields on the other side, all knee-high grass and wildflowers around them. 

When she couldn't run any more, breath gone from her lungs and her legs aching, she merely gave up, collapsing into the grass.

“Wanda!”

“Come lie down,” she beckoned, pulling him down after her. Pietro fell, laughing, over her, knocking the wind from her in the process.

“Watch it!”

She swatted at him, pulling his head onto her lap. Distantly, she searched for the others with her mind, and could feel a plethora of things from them: some, irritated, others, amused or simply bored. Some were even heading through the woods.

It would be some time before they reached them, but a sense of something close to guilt rose in her. “Should we head back?”

“Why? One break won't kill your training, sister. And unless you know someone who plans on achieving world domination on such a nice day...”

“You've made your point.”

As he watched the clouds above, she wove a daisy chain crown for him.

 


	5. #4: ...been on a picnic

She'd never directly objected to going outside before, but if one more insect chose to have a seat in her spaghetti, she was going to _scream._ A grasshopper set one talon on the edge of the blanket and stared at her with the resolve of a warrior. She only glared back.

“Never thought I'd see someone who looked so bitterly at a bug before.”

Clint sipped nonchalantly at the can of soda in one hand, dripping with beads of condensation from the sun above.

“I do not care for it.”

She stared firmly at it for only a second more before sweeping up her bowl into her lap, far out of the bug's reach. Something buzzed close to her ear, and she spent a good few moments swatting madly around her head.

“Hate the bugs?” he teased, grinning when she scowled. Her spaghetti was still warm, and she settled down to finish the rest of it off.

“Miss Maximoff!”

When Thor claps her hard on the back—they're not kidding when they say that the guy doesn't know his own strength!—she chokes so hard on her spaghetti that she forgets what breathing is like.

“It has been suggested that you join us for a few games!”

“Give her a second to not die, maybe?” Clint suggested, taking her bowl away to prevent a spill while she wheezed. Her sputtering sent sauce flying, and Clint absently wiped a chunk of tomato from his cheek.

When her lungs remembered how to function, she nodded, forgetting her food. Leave it to the bugs, she thought.

“Sure...sure, why not?”

Before she knew it, Steve was wrapping a bandanna around her leg, and her brother's, and then did a similar thing to Clint and Natasha beside them.

“I fail to understand why our legs must be bound?” Pietro frowned. “How is this much of a race?”

“You have to work _together,_ see? Run _together._ That's just how it works. Cooperation. Playing nice with each other.” Tony wasn't participating, but instead was leaning in the 'v' of a twisted oak tree beside the clearing.

“Is that why you're not joining us, Stark?”

If he had something to throw, he probably would have aimed for Natasha's head.

“Funny. No, I just have bets going on this one. Wouldn't miss anything that pitted Sonic over there against the resident birdbrain.”

For once, Clint and Pietro agree by boring holes into Tony's being with their glares.

“We have the line taped down by Thor, across the field. First one there wins. Okay?”

Steve was all for the 'play fair and just have fun with it' sort of attitude, but Clint was having _none_ of that shit.

“Ready? Go!”

He took his chance and shoved Pietro as hard as he could, toppling him down onto his sister, then maneuvered Natasha onto his back—not hard, as the bandannas were rather high up on their legs, but definitely awkward.

“Clint!” Natasha was held in place, but she put up a fight until they both fell over in the long grass some feet away, and she began beating on him with her fists. “You can't do that, you ass, that's _cheating!”_

Wanda was a mess of laughter and smiles, and it took all that she had to keep Pietro from starting a fight.

“Not fair!”

“Let him be,” she giggled, pulling at his wrist. “I want to play with this frisbee everyone has been talking so highly of.”

The disc was somewhat difficult to manage, she found, and while her brother made straight passes back to her, she occasionally let her powers take control to keep her tosses in line with him.

Then, behind him, the others stood around to talk, and when he caught the disc from her, he turned in that direction and threw with as much strength as he could manage.

“Barton, catch!”

She shouldn't have laughed when, upon colliding with the back of Clint's head, it hit with such a force that it knocked him over.

But, she did.

 


	6. #5: ...had enough ice cream to cause an internal meltdown

“Pick whatever you want. I gotta get rid of it before summer, anyhow. That's when we buy all of the new, good stuff.”

So many ice cream cartons were crammed into the freezer that Wanda thought she might be seeing double for a moment. This was something that Stark wanted to simply “get rid of”?

“How much is there?” she asked cautiously, deciding immediately that trying to count or categorize it all would be too much work. “What _are_ these flavors?”

Tony shuffled through the containers until he's shoulder-deep in the mess, pulling out a few cartons and setting them onto the kitchen counter.

“I'm not quite sure, actually. Don't even remember half of these. If you don't want one, feel free to toss it, I don't think that anyone else will be raiding this place before we restock, anyhow.”

Pietro studied a carton suspiciously labeled _“Cherry Marshmallow Surprise”_ , and showed her, pointing to the title with a disgusted look. She only has to take one look at another stamped with Japanese characters, and _“Mint Garlic”_ printed beside it to know to slide it on over to their “toss this out before anyone at all thinks of eating this” pile.

“But yeah, go crazy, do whatever. No rules in the kitchen. Not in my kitchen. Not ever.”

Wanda put her hand up for a hi-five before Tony goes, and then they were alone on their stools with a long counter between them, two spoons laid out, and the freezer door wide open.

“...perhaps we'd better get started?”

Tony had already made it clear that it was quite an important job, to be the ones assigned to clean out the ice cream stash in the base's secondary freezer, and that their mission was of the utmost priority.

The first bin she pulled out was something infused with chunks of cookie dough, and by the time she pried open the lid that was half-frozen on, Pietro had already made decent progress on some brownie mixture.

It all seemed fairly easy, she thought.

Two hours later, she was wrong.

She was _so_ wrong.

They had (somehow) wound up lying on the floor, surrounded by both empty and half-finished cartons. A streak of whipped cream hung in her hair, and she wiped it out and onto the newest carton in her lap, one that promised strawberry-cheesecake and chocolate syrup.

It was so good, so why did she feel so _sick?_

“I did _not_ expect such painful repercussions from something so _fantastic,”_ her brother groaned beside her. He had been the one to find the carton of a cinnamon coffee-flavor earlier, but she had discovered all of the blueberry pie and chocolate chip muffin flavors.

Then, Pietro had found nearly four untouched cases of the brownie type he had started with—“This is the best thing I have ever _had,_ Wanda, you don't _understand!”—_ and was now on his side on the floor, curled up at her feet.

She wondered, vaguely, if this much ice cream could kill a man.

Eh—he would probably make it, she supposed.

For a brief second, the spoonful she'd just put in her mouth was too cold—and then her head surged in pain.

“Why does it _hurt?”_

“What are you guys doing?”

Steve knew immediately that Tony had put them up to this.

When said genius showed up to check on their progress in clearing out the kitchen entirely, Wanda only rested her head back against the counter and listened to them.

“You _let_ them do this?”

“I needed to get rid of that stuff, okay? Sue me!”

“I'm not sure if the dead looks on their faces are better than the insane sugar high that they'd otherwise be experiencing right now!”

“Are we dead?” Pietro shuffled about beside her feet. “I feel dead.”

Wanda decided that perhaps it would be best to simply abort the mission before they fell apart in a mess of sugar and frozen dairy goodness. She stood, stiffly, and it took all of her willpower not to vomit in the sink.

“Well, I'm assuming that your lack of proper motor controls means that you made decent progress?”

She wanted to _smack_ the optimism out of Stark's voice.

“Well, I think we did...it sure feels like it.”

When she looked at the freezer to see just a little more than half of it still full, any sense of accomplishment died right there in her arms.

“Damn...”

 

 


	7. #6: ...gone "clubbing"

Tony had officially adopted the role of what he believed was something along the lines of 'Best Parent Ever', though it was really starting to develop into 'Most Irresponsible Parent Ever'. Steve, in trying to keep thing together, was beginning to lose his own sanity.

“You can't take them _clubbing!”_

“They're legal! Alright? It's fine!”

“Do you know how many illegal things go down in places like that?”   
“You make it sound like a back alley, Steve. It's a club. It's great. Hush.”

“I want them home by eleven, okay?”

“Yes, _mom._ And they won't be wasted when I bring them back, either, because _you're no fun.”_

Was that a compromise? It sounded close enough.

“Yeah, and don't let them take anything, either. Really.”

“I know. Yeah. Sure thing. Will do.”

His assurances were ultimately half-hearted as he ushered the two of them out the door.

“I'm serious.”

“And _I'm_ serious! No drugs. Nothing funny. If they're going to get high, it will be done _properly._ Later. It's on the list.”

And any overlying sense of “okay” was now gone and completely out the window.

“ _What?_ No, like, not _ever._ Tony—”

“We'll be back before eleven, okay? Good. Great. _Bye.”_

_“Tony!”_

\- - - - - - -

She could feel the bass of the music pulsate throughout her body, and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not. It was strange at first, but upon watching and studying the others that crowded the multi-colored dance floor, she eventually figured out how to blend in.

The flashing lights and bright glowsticks—accompanied by a ridiculous amount of blacklights as well—were doing nothing to help her steadily building headache. Her brother's thoughts weren't helping much, either: he had been listing off reasons that American girls were great for the past seven minutes, and he was beginning to run out of _legitimate_ reasons.

_'Their hair smells like magic, Wanda.'_

_'You've had a bit too much, I think.'_

At least, enough drinks to skew his perception and his intelligence by a significant amount.

_'Like MAGIC.'_

The girl on his left—Wanda didn't care much for the bright-colored streaks in her hair, or the amount of glitter on her person—began to dance a little too close (she believed that Stark had called it 'grinding'?)

It was inherently far too sexual for Wanda's liking, and she pulled him out of there before things could get any worse—the girls, of course, weren't too happy about it all.

“Wanda! Oh, come on, they were nice, weren't they? I was finally learning how to dance properly!”

Pietro probably had no clue how _loud_ he really was.

“First of all, be quiet. You're screaming. Second, if you had stayed any longer—they were undressing you with their eyes!—they would have managed to pull you away, and have you in bed with them before you realized what was going on!”

“It wouldn't be the—the first time!”

He was right, but that didn't mean it was _okay._ She didn't think it would be nice, either, to leave those strange girls with her brother when he could barely see straight.

“Do you have everything that you brought with you?”

“I didn't bring anything but myself—that's all I need to impress them, yeah?”

The one with the stupid hair coloring waved and blew a kiss, and when her brother waved back, she decided that there was no point in staying here any longer.

“Good. Then we can go.”

“No! Wanda...”

“We are _leaving._ Is Stark still at the bar?”

“You sound so _jealous,_ little one...”

“We're going!”

\- - - - - -

She sincerely hoped that she would be able to toss Pietro in bed and have him stay there for the rest of the night without any trouble—she wasn't looking forward to late-night babysitting if she had to sit in with him until morning, or until he dropped out of exhaustion.

It was looking promising, though, if the fact that he was already slumped against her shoulder was any indication.

“I miss their hair,” he told her softly. “They were so _nice...”_

“Yes, well, killers are _also_ nice. That does not mean that they're good.”

The noise he made was meant to be a sort of “eh” but sounded like the dying calls of an alpaca, and she couldn't help but smirk as she laid him down on his bed.

“I'm going to leave you here, alright? And I'm going to go to bed. And you're going to go to sleep. Understand?”

He was already asleep, tossed over the covers with his legs hanging over the edge.

“Of course...you're such a handful, you know.”

Wanda left the lamp on, and at least decided to lay his jacket over him.

“And I am not _jealous._ I think you just deserve better.”

She shut the door behind her when she left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I have never actually done anything like this in real life so I'm guessing entirely.   
> Well, it's not too terrible, I think....  
> Tony is definitely the fun parent. Or the one uncle that lets you do everything that your mother says no to...


	8. #7...spent an afternoon full of cheap confections and rusted rides.

She couldn't remember what they had called this place, originally. Banner had refused to come along (despite Stark's protests), calling it all _'an absurd amount of sugared foods and tetanus waiting to happen'._ Whatever _that_ meant.

A carnival—that was what they called it.

She had remembered seeing something similar when she was very little, toddling in a small dress and shiny new shoes along after her mother on her way home from school. The fence surrounding the dirty lot was too high for her to see over, and she had been lifted onto her mother's shoulders in order to see.

This was much bigger, much brighter, and much more than she had expected. Everyone had seemed like it was a casual thing, but this felt so extravagant to her. When she tried to explain why she was so awestruck, Clint had laughed.

“Dude, this stuff was always around when I was a kid. I'd take my pocket money and a few friends and we'd go out all weekend and eat too much funnel cake and waste our money on the games.”

Wanda looked at him curiously. “Why do you put a funnel in a cake?”

Tony came up behind her, snatching her hand and holding it up before shouting across their little grouping. “Steve! The girl's never had a funnel cake before!” She could hear Natasha mutter “Good god” under her breath.

Said funnel cakes were as delicious as promised, and she was covered in a ridiculous amount of grease and powdered sugar. It was strange, to wander around through the crowds of teenagers and parents with their kids, staring around her at the rusty metal rides and the brightly-colored tents. There, in the middle of the clearing that the carnival had set up in, was something vaguely familiar.

“A carousel?” she asked, tugging on Clint's arm.

“Yeah, a merry-go-round. Here.” He counted out a few tickets and pressed them into her hand. “You can go if you want.”

Initially, Clint sending Wanda off with Pietro in tow turned into Natasha forcing him along after, and then Tony making a scene until Steve went with him. In short, it was now everybody on the merry-go-round.

Wanda honestly felt as if she were six years old again, peering over the tall wooden fence at the cheap carnival she wasn't allowed to go to—it was too much to pay for such little safety and so few tickets. She moved along through the gate, and stood, smiling at the beautifully-painted carousel. Each horse was just as pristine, with sculpted faces and painted on saddles and reins, dotted with flowers and accents. It was so much like the plates that had once stood in her mother's china cabinet.

“Pietro, come here!”

The horse was a dark brown with an auburn mane and red saddle, and the one paired with it was a platinum white, all covered in bluebells and black reins.

“I want this one.”

He rolled his eyes but followed through the turnstile after her, and climbed onto the white horse.

There was something that was just so satisfying about the steady up-and-down movement of the horses, and she couldn't quite place why. Getting off afterwards, everything was a little dizzy, but it wasn't too terrible. Tony found his way through all of the skill tests and prize games (and failing desperately at most of them), and Wanda followed if only to watch with amusement as he fed more money into the ticket machine.

There was one particular attraction with a little water pond in the middle. Tiny ducks boasted numbers hidden on the bottom, and upon picking three, the numbers added up to denominate a prize category. It was very, very cute.

“I'll give it a try,” Pietro said, handing a ticket or two across the pool to the bored vendor on the other side. “What do you want?”

Wanda looked at the cheaply-made prizes hanging up on a rack at the back of the tent, and spied a large stuffed sheep in the back. It was among the biggest prizes, and she knew the challenge would piss him off.

“I want the sheep.”

“The big one?” he groaned.

“The big one,” she repeated, smiling when he rolled his eyes.

“You pick the first duck.”

She reached in to the cold water, and frowned when the first she pulled out read '0'.

“You next.”

Pietro closed his eyes, and grabbed for the first duck that brushed by his fingers.

'0'.

“This is harder than I thought.” He grabbed onto the next duck with such ferocity that she thought the rubber would fall apart in his hand. '2'.

To get a small one, it had to be more than five. Despite Pietro's disappointment, Wanda only laughed and dragged him along to look at the rest of the attractions.

“There's a batting cage,” she suggested.

“I'd break it.”

“You probably would.”

It wasn't that funny, but the cotton candy had gone to her head, and the bright neon lights that decorated the tents in the settling evening were making her a bit hazy, so she giggled until he was laughing with her, and until it hurt.

“Come on. How about this one?”

“Hey, wait!”

She paused at the cry of a child in the crowd, and soon a little boy came running between the adults, his father hurrying after him. She turned to continue on, but he shouted again, and then ran up to the pair, tugging on the hem of Wanda's dress.

“Hello,” she said politely, leaning over to talk to him. “I'm sorry, are you lost?”

Pietro hummed impatiently, and grabbed her hand.

“Wanda, let's go.”

“You the Scarlet Witch, right?” The boy's eyes were glowing—and maybe that was just the carnival lights—but he seemed in such beautiful awe that she couldn't simply say 'no' and leave him there.

“Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

“I...I heard you say that you wanted this. I had an extra ticket and won it, so...I got it for you.”

From behind his back, he produced the large sheep that she had challenged her brother to win. Her heart melted.

“Well, thank you! That's very kind of you.” She stooped to kiss the little boy's cheek, ruffled his hair, and waved after him with a smile when he ran back to his father's arms.

“Brat,” Pietro scoffed.

“Don't be rude! He was very sweet.”

“He didn't have to do that for you.”

Wanda pouted and pinched his cheek between her fingers.

“Don't be jealous, now. Come on. We've got a ridiculous amount of these tickets left, so maybe you'll have a chance to win me something nicer.”

Pietro grumbled, but she pulled him along anyways.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE TELL ME I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS WHAT THAT DUCK PRIZE GAME IS  
> I LOVE THAT DUCK GAME


End file.
